


our joy will fill the earth and last till the end of time

by itsahockeyplay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, it's about their lives so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 02:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahockeyplay/pseuds/itsahockeyplay
Summary: The first time they meet, Sid's still "the kid," Geno's still Evgeni Malkin, and they're both just starting to think about who they want to be.Malkin's pale, eyes wide as he stares at Mario, and when Gonch asks him something in Russian, he stutters out a few words. "Nice — nice to meet," he says, voice deep, having a hard time pronouncing the words, and Sid reaches the bottom of the stairwell as Malkin's shaking Mario's hand.Malkin's trying his best to keep the awe off his face, but he isn't very good at it. He's obviously tall, big — 6'3, according to his stats — and Sid marvels at how well he hunches in on himself, makes himself seem almost small. Mario stops shaking his hand and Malkin steps back, looks to the side as he licks his bottom lip. He happens to catch Sid's eye and perks up, which draws Mario's attention.***The story of Sid and Geno's life together, told through a series of firsts.





	our joy will fill the earth and last till the end of time

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt was about first times, like kissing, sleeping over, etc. i.......probably made it more complicated than it needed to be but i had a lot of fun writing this  
> it does get sad at the end, but you'll see the sad part coming and can just skip it completely and pretend the fic ended before that and sub in your own preferred ending.
> 
> title comes from "the first time i ever saw your face" by roberta flack. please point out any typos you see!!

The first time they meet, Sid's still "the kid," Geno's still Evgeni Malkin, and they're both just starting to think about who they want to be.

Malkin's pale, eyes wide as he stares at Mario, and when Gonch asks him something in Russian, he stutters out a few words. "Nice — nice to meet," he says, voice deep, having a hard time pronouncing the words, and Sid reaches the bottom of the stairwell as Malkin's shaking Mario's hand.

Malkin's trying his best to keep the awe off his face, but he isn't very good at it. He's obviously tall, _big_ — 6'3, according to his stats — and Sid marvels at how well he hunches in on himself, makes himself seem almost small. Mario stops shaking his hand and Malkin steps back, looks to the side as he licks his bottom lip. He happens to catch Sid's eye and perks up, which draws Mario's attention.

"Ah, Sid," Mario says, beckoning him closer. "Evgeni, this is — "

"Sidney Crosby," Malkin says, and the way he's grinning transforms his entire face. The nerves have been replaced with unrepentant joy; he's standing upright, looking every inch — and maybe a couple more — as tall as 6'3; he looks boyish, buoyant, brazen.

 _Oh_ , Sid thinks. _Oh, no._

Mario laughs a little. "I see he needs no introduction."

Gonch looks just as amused, but he's staring at Sid a little too carefully. "Yes, Zhenya is very exuberant."

"Uh, hi," Sid says, his cheeks heating up, and he curses how easily he turns pink. He feels _shy_ , all of a sudden, and the feeling is so foreign Sid shoves it aside immediately and powers through. He offers a small smile, and he doesn't know whether he should shake Malkin's hand, so he shoves his own into his own pocket, the other running through his hair. "I'm Sid. Which, uh, you obviously knew."

Malkin's grin grows wider. He's still looking at Sid as he says something rapid in Russian, and Gonch sighs and shakes his head before saying to Sid drily: "He wants you to know he's really excited to play hockey with you. He's been looking forward to it."

And that — well, Sid can certainly relate. His own smile grows, and any trace of shyness within him vanishes as he looks at Malkin and says, "Yeah. Me, too."

***

The first time they kiss, Sid's the captain, Geno is his A, and they both desperately, desperately need another cup.

It's a quiet Tuesday night. A pair of half-empty wine glasses stand on the coffee table and the TV is on, sound muted because both of them stopped paying attention a while ago. Sid's just finished the dishes — Geno cooked, which is usually how it goes — and is in the process of making himself comfortable on the couch. It's snowing gently outside, the fireplace is on, and Sid's in the middle of an impassioned explanation of the overview effect.

"...and, I don't know, just seeing that, it leaves an impression, y'know? How can you — "

"Sid," Geno interrupts.

Sid cuts his eyes to him, brow furrowed. "What? Are you saying I'm wrong?"

But Geno looks way too serious for that. A little nervous, even. "No," he says, shaking his head. He scoots closer to Sid on the couch. "Gonna — gonna do something, okay? If you not like, is okay."

Sid's mouth is dry. "What?" he says, eyes widening as Geno moves closer, steady and sure. "What are you — " Sid cuts himself off by sucking in a quick breath when Geno brings a hand up to cradle his cheek.

"Is okay?" Geno murmurs, bringing his face closer. He's looking down at Sid's mouth and Sid's scanning his face, noticing the barely-there stubble on his jaw, the still-healing cut on his face, the way his hair curls around his ear and this — this is more than okay.

"Yes," Sid whispers, breath shaky, and then, for a moment, his world is reduced down to Geno — his mouth, soft and yielding and tasting a little like the chocolate they'd eaten; his hand, firm and warm and gentle, cradling Sid's head; his smile, wide and relieved and perfect when he moves back far too soon.

Sid blinks his eyes open, unaware they had fallen shut, and can't help the way his brow furrows. "Wait, no, I wasn't done."

Geno laughs, loud and full-body, and he runs his hand through Sid's hair. "Don't think I'm ever gonna be done," he says softly.

And because Sid is a man of action, he moves forward and pulls Geno in, curling his hand in Geno's hair, taking his time and doing it _properly_ now that he's really prepared for what's happening. It's great, of course it is, it's Geno, but when he breaks the kiss, he says, "Y'know, the reason I'm always giving you chapstick is so you _use_ it."

Geno stares at him. For a split second, Sid thinks, _Fuck_ . Because he isn't good at this; he doesn't know how to be _sweet_ and _romantic_. It doesn't come naturally and he's never cared enough to improve, but Geno — Geno cares about that stuff. He wants that stuff.

Then, Geno rolls his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh, and Sid remembers this is _Geno_ . Even though it feels like everything's changed, nothing really has. Geno knows what he's getting, there's no way he _couldn't_ , not with how long they've known each other, and he still decided to go for it.

"Ruin nice moment, Sid," Geno complains. "This what we gonna tell other people in future? 'Yes, was very nice when I realize Sid feel the same way. I make dinner — '

"You _always_ make me dinner."

" — and have wine and fireplace and chocolate — "

"Which sounds pretty much like any other time we've had dinner when it's cold."

" — and I kiss him, and is sweet and romantic and then he say to me, he say, Geno — " here, he affects the worst Canadian accent in existence " — why don't you use chapstick I give you?'" He gives Sid an unimpressed look.

Sid shrugs. "I mean, you knew what you were getting."

Geno hums. "True. If I want romance, I pick someone else."

Sid rears back. "Are you saying I can't be romantic?" Because he _can_ be, he just _chooses_ not to. That's an important difference.

"I mean…" Geno raises his eyebrows, twisting his mouth and shrugging his shoulders in the universal gesture of _you said it, not me_.

"Is that a challenge?"

A smile creeps up on Geno's face. "You saying you want it to be?"

"Oh, you're _on_."

***

The first time they say _I love you_ , Sid has more accolades than he can count, Geno deserves so many more than he has, and they are so, so close to winning another cup.

It's a pretty anticlimactic moment, actually. Geno's head is in Sid's lap and he's holding the iPad, looking for a specific play to go over from the game footage. Sid's running his hand through his hair, and he pauses when he realizes something.

He looks down at Geno, ignoring the sound of protest he makes. "Hey, have I said I love you?" Because that's a pretty important thing to say, right?

Geno tilts the iPad away and looks at him, so unimpressed, Sid's almost, _almost_ affected by it. "Sid, you basically propose to me every week. If you don't love, I'm very confuse."

" _What_ ? I do _not_ ," Sid splutters. "If I were going to _propose_ , I'd do it properly. And I'd have an actual fucking ring." Which he _does_ have, okay. He's had it for months now, but thought maybe proposing a few months after getting together was moving a little too fast.

The point is, Sid's winning at being romantic as fuck, and a proposal is supposed to be the most romantic thing that happens — which Sid doesn't agree with, but sources close to him who're much better at this sort of thing have informed him he is wrong — so Sid has _plans_. He's planned multiple scenarios, taking into account all contingencies. He's going to go through with it during the offseason, and Geno will probably cry a little which will make Sid extremely smug.

"Last week, you tell me when we get house together, we have to get big yard for kids, bigger than we have right now. Because we gonna have dogs, too."

"That...that isn't a _proposal_ ," Sid says weakly. "It's — I mean. It's more a declaration of intent."

And Geno's brought the iPad back up in front of his face, blocking his expression from Sid's view. "Okay, what you say."

Sid plucks the iPad from his hands and sets it aside. "I _haven't_ proposed. I have a plan."

Geno looks up at him with his _you're being ridiculous but I love you for it_ smile. "So you gonna propose."

"I mean. Maybe."

Geno sits up, leaning against the back of the couch, tugging Sid into him. "In offseason, maybe?"

Sid rests his head on Geno's shoulder. "It's supposed to be a _surprise_ ." Sid's sulking a little, but it's perfectly justified because how the _fuck_ did he know?

"Okay," Geno says in a pacifying tone that has the exact opposite effect. He drops a kiss on the top of Sid's head. "I pretend to be surprise."

"That's not how it works and you know that."

"Maybe you not even have to worry. Maybe I propose before that."

Sid leans back enough to make sure Geno sees his glare. "Don't you fucking dare."

Geno's smirking. "Is that challenge?"

"I mean it, Geno, _don't_."  

And Geno, who everybody knows is an actual asshole and only gets away with it because he's so goddamn _lovable_ , just smiles.

Which means Sid has to drastically change his plan. Originally, he'd wanted to propose on August 3rd because that was halfway between his birthday and Geno's. They hadn't really discussed what they were going to do during the offseason, so Sid had made a plan for each possible scenario — if Geno went to Russia and Sid to Cole Harbor, if both of them stayed in Pittsburgh, if they decided that they'd go together and split their time half between their respective hometowns.

But Geno's thrown down the gauntlet — whether he knows it or not — so Sid moves it up to two weeks after Geno's challenge. They have a day off, and Sid uses that to his advantage.

Geno _does_ cry a little bit. Sid _is_ extremely smug. Geno decides Sid's a little too smug, and the method he uses to rectify the situation leaves them both extremely sated.

***

The first time they hold a wedding reception, Sid's drunk from a heady combination of too much alcohol and sheer joy, Geno is worse off than he is, and they've spent the entire day smiling at everything because they love each other so fiercely it's impossible to contain it all inside.

Once they retire, Geno wants to _really_ go all out, host a "proper" reception, but he settles now for a small gathering of close friends and family. Sid hates the idea of a huge wedding reception with a burning passion, almost as much as he hates the _Flyers_ , but it isn't worth arguing over right now because he's married. Actually, properly, really _married_.

"...Sid? Sid."

Sid looks at Duper, who's looking at him with wry amusement. Him and Flower and Tanger have cornered him for a bit, and Duper looks like he's been calling his name for a while now.

"Sorry," Sid lies, because he isn't sorry, he's married.

"No, you're not," Flower says, grinning. "Not even a bit."

Sid laughs, and it's mainly in disbelief at his life. "No." He looks at all three of them, running a hand through his hair, grinning so widely he feels it in every part of his body. "Guys. I'm _married_ . To _Geno_."

"Yeah, buddy, we were right there with you," Duper says, his wry amusement becoming both wryer and more amused.

"This is what I've had to deal with," Tanger says, scowling as he gestures at Sid's face, but Sid isn't fooled; Tanger was crying proper tears during the ceremony. "For _years_. You both decided to fuck off and leave me completely alone. I deserve a fucking sainthood for dealing with them."

"It was a character-building exercise," Flower says. "Because we all know you need more of that."

"Does it stop?" Sid asks, and he doesn't know or care if he's interrupting them. He probably is, but it's _his_ wedding, and there has to be a rule that says you can interrupt whoever you want at your own wedding.

"Does what stop?" Tanger says.

"Feeling this amazing. Does being married stop feeling this amazing."

All three of them transform from impudent smartasses into lovesick fools the moment they think about their own spouses. If Sid wasn't as bad — and also really, really drunk — he'd call them out on it, but right now, it just makes him think about Geno, who is amazing and wonderful and also his husband.

"No," Duper says after a moment. "It changes, and sometimes it dips, but it's always this amazing."

Sid mulls it over. "Good. I don't want it to stop being amazing." In the back of his mind, he knows literally the only difference between today and yesterday is a piece of paper, but it _feels_ like so much more.

He's still thinking about it when Geno glomps Sid from behind, wrapping both his arms around Sid's waist and pulling him in.

"Look everywhere," Geno says, pouting dramatically. "Couldn't find."

"Well, here I am," Sid says, letting Geno sway both of them side to side.

"If you want something from either of them, now's the time to ask," Duper or Flower or Tanger says, and the usual chirping follows, but Sid couldn't pay attention to them if he wanted to — which he doesn't — not while he's wrapped up so tightly by Geno, not while he's busy marvelling at the fact that he has this, he gets to _keep_ this, this is his. This is theirs.

"Sid," Geno whispers, nosing at his jaw, and Sid hums, loose-limbed, turning his head to look at Geno. Geno's smiling, looking radiant, as if he's just won the most important thing in his life. Or maybe Sid's feeling that way. Or maybe both of them are.

Sid's drowsy. Not the drowsy you feel when you've knocked back a couple sleeping pills, but the kind that happens when you're feeling so good and comfortable and _safe_ your brain decides it's okay to let your guard down, to relax. Because Geno means good, and comfortable, and safe. Geno means home.

"Sid," Geno whispers again, as if he's about to tell him a secret and is beckoning him closer. Sid doesn't know how it's possible, but he manages to get himself closer. "Guess what?"

"What?" Sid says when Geno doesn't say anything else.

"Guess."

"What?" Sid repeats.

"Sid, we married."

Sid laughs, and Geno laughs, and Sid knows with the kind of certainty he only associates with hockey that what he has with Geno _will_ always be this amazing.

***

The first time they adopt a kid, Sid's baby-proofed the entire house three times, Geno's bought the entire Amazon catalogue of parenting books, and they've barely been retired for a few weeks.

They'd started the process months and months ago, and all that time and patience and anxiety, all the moments of paralyzing self-doubt and full-blown panic, have been worth it, have been more than worth it because nothing, _nothing_ compares to this.

Her name's Zara, and she weighs 6.5 pounds. She is the smallest, fragilest, most beautiful thing Sid's ever seen, and he's never loved anything as passionately as he loves her.

He holds her in his arms, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. Geno sits beside him, stroking her cheek with an enormous finger, cooing at her in Russian, and Sid only now realizes that she holds his heart within her tiny, tiny fists. That she will break it, again and again and again, but if that's the price he has to pay to have her in his life, it's one he will pay without hesitation, every single time, because it's nothing compared to what he gets in return.

"She's perfect," he whispers, and he doesn't know why he's whispering but the moment feels far too sacred for anything louder. She's perfect. He knows every parent says that about their child, but this is an objective truth — she _is_ perfect, and she is theirs. "How the fuck did I get so lucky?"

Geno presses his forehead to Sid's temple, one arm around Sid and one hand resting on Zara, eyes shut, and says hoarsely, "Ask myself everyday."

She opens her eyes, smiles, and Sid smiles back, coos, "Hey. Look at those beautiful eyes."

The second time they adopt a child, he feels the same way. The third and fourth, too.

***

The first time they send one of their kids to college,Sid has to clear his throat three times before he can get a single word out, Geno's in the house, having already said his tearful goodbye because he can't bear to watch her drive away, and they both want time to stop immediately.

He means to say something about staying safe, about letting them know when she gets there; ask her whether she has enough food for the journey and to make sure she'd done a final check to see whether she had everything she needed; maybe make a joke or two about college life. What comes out is: "God, how did you get this big this fast?"

"Oh my god, Dad, you can't," Zara says, voice wobbly, biting her lip hard, dark eyes wide and filling with tears.

Sid's suddenly reminded about the first time she seriously fell and hurt herself, the way she'd stared up at him with the same eyes, with the same expression, trying her best to be brave and hold it in as Sid carried her inside, his heart racing and his hands shaking but his voice steady; how he had cleaned the wound, and told her crying didn't make anyone less brave, and how she'd burst into tears the moment he'd gotten the words out; how he'd called Geno and asked him to bring back mint chocolate chip ice cream; how they'd sat on the couch watching her favorite movie, eating her favorite ice cream, and by the time the movie was over, she'd forgotten she was even hurt; how Sid kept it together until they put her to bed before crawling into Geno's arms, shaking, whispering that he had been _right there_ , and he hadn't seen it, and they were so lucky because it could have been so, so much worse, and how the _fuck_ had he missed that, how had he been unable to protect his own daughter; how Geno had held him and comforted him and reminded him they knew this was going to happen, that kids got hurt and as she got older, mint chocolate chip ice cream and a movie wouldn't be able to fix it.

Sid shakes his head. "I remember the first time you got hurt. You looked exactly how you look right now, did you know that?"

And then she does start crying and launches herself at him, burying her face into his chest. "I changed my mind," she hiccups. "College is stupid and dumb and I don't need it. Can I just stay?"

Sid breathes her in and thinks, _Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Please. Forever._ "I mean, you can," he says, his voice thick, "but then who's gonna be the first hockey player/astronaut/firefighter to become president of the entire universe?"

Because at five, Zara had decided doing just one thing at once was boring, so why not just do it all? She liked the U.S. president and didn't want to take her job away from her, though, so instead, she decided becoming president of the universe was the best course of action since no one was doing that job yet.

"I'll make J do it. He's younger, he has to listen to me," she says, face still buried in his chest, and she squeezes him tighter.  

Sid laughs, and it hurts to do so. "I don't think you can, honey."

Zara cries a little harder, and Sid tries his best not to but fails, and afterwards, he stands there, hands in his pocket, watching a piece of himself drive away.

***

The first time they attend a draft for their kid, Sid has more gray hair than not, Geno's is far too thin for his liking, and they will never attend another draft for any of their kids again.

All of their kids loved hockey growing up, but only one wanted to be a hockey player once they'd grown. A small, tiny part of them was disappointed, but they both buried that part deep, deep within themselves and never let it surface because they _weren't_ doing that to their kids.

They'd made sure Sam never felt pressure or anything but support at home. Being a Crosby-Malkin meant he had to fight through so, so many expectations, and he'd conquered all of them. When he forgot how much he'd accomplished, Sid and Geno reminded him, and reminded him again and again that he didn't need to be perfect.

"I — I want to make you proud," he'd said quietly after a particularly nasty loss.

"Already proud. So proud, can't be more proud," Geno'd said softly, smoothing his hair back. "Will be proud even if you never score, will be proud if you forget to skate, will be proud even if you quit hockey." He'd tipped Sam's chin up and looked at him solemnly before adding, "Even be proud if you're drafted by Flyers."

Sam had reared back, looking so disgusted Sid would've laughed if he hadn't been busy mirroring Sam's reaction. "Oh my god, ew, no, never. I'm never playing for the Flyers."

Because God loves showing people why they should never use the words "never" or "always," the Flyers have the first pick. Sid and Sam blame Geno. Everyone else thinks it's hilarious.

Currently, Sid's semi-glaring at Geno and Sam's full-glaring.

"Why are you like this?" Geno says, looking at both of them in disbelief. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Uh, you jinxed my entire life," Sam says, staring back at Geno with a similar expression of disbelief, his tone implying _duh_ in the way only teenagers can really manage.

"I was _joking_ ," Geno cries out. "A joke is when — "

"But you said it seriously!" Sam says.

"And what about every other person on planet that joked about this, too?" Geno says. "They don't get blame?"

" _They're_ not _you_. Obviously, what you say actually matters; what they say doesn't."

"You're not going to defend me?" Geno says, looking to Sid. "After all the years we've spent together, you're turning on me just like that?"

Sid looks at him. He shrugs.

"Maybe I'll get picked second," Sam says after Geno's finished with his noise of outrage.

"You're not going to be picked second," Sid says, and he sighs. "I don't know what's going to be worse. Me having to wear that ugly orange, or having to deal with every single person who thinks they're hilarious and makes the same jokes over and over again." He pauses. "Or maybe it's just having to frequently deal with the entirety of Philly."

"Wearing orange," Geno says after mulling it over.

"You wear hideous things all the time, it shouldn't be too difficult for you," Sid says.

"I don't wear _orange_ ," Geno says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "It's such a gross color."

Which — true. "Fair enough," Sid says.

"And my clothes aren't hideous," Geno adds, and Sid scoffs.

"What if I, like, told them wearing orange was against my religion? So I couldn't be picked by the Flyers?" Sam says, having checked out of the conversation a while back. He looks serious.

"And what religion is that?" Sid says, smiling despite the situation.

"Uh. Penguinism? No, wait, that sounds like a disease. What about Penguins…ity. Yeah, Penguinsity. "

"Should try it," Geno says, and he looks serious, too. "How many people do you need to start a religion?"

"No," Sid says.

"You miss one hundred percent of the shots — " Geno starts, poking his tongue out the corner of his mouth.

" _Don't_ quote Gretzky at me." Sid's tone is sharp but he's smiling.  

"According to the internet, you just need formal leadership, history, a way to ordain leaders through a course of study, some form of foundational texts, regular places to worship, and a regular congregation," Sam says, getting more excited as he reads through a list on his phone. He looks up, grinning widely. "Oh my god, you could literally just say the Pens' captain is the formal leadership — I'm sure Jake would be down — write down 'The Flyers, the Flyers' fans, and anything to do with the Flyers is terrible and should never be associated with and also wearing orange — even _seeing_ orange in person — is a sin' as a foundational text, and the rest is already there!"

Geno laughs loudly. "We should do it. Just to see what happens."

Sid's having a hard time not laughing just as hard. "You two should've thought of this before the day of the draft. You could've already gotten it legally recognized and everything."

"Papa, you should've thought of this," Sam says. "Since it's your fault, anyway."

Geno tilts his head back as he groans loudly. "I thought we were _past_ this."

Sam does get picked first, and he tries his best to smile wide and look grateful as he gets his picture taken. There isn't a single face in the audience that doesn't look _delighted_ by the turn of events, and Sid's phone has been blowing up with texts that are either a row of the cry-laughing emoji, a long line of HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, or some variation of _what did you do to rack up this much bad karma_ . Nate's the only one who really sends anything different: _my deepest condolences_.  

When they all realize this means they'll have to buy Flyers' jerseys, Sid copies and sends their own message back at them.

***

The first time they walk one of their kids down the aisle, Sid's close to teary, Geno's built a house there, and they can't believe this much time has passed.

They're standing in front of the doors that lead in, looking at each other. "I can't believe this," Sid says.

"She's so _big_ now," Geno says.

They've been repeating the sentiment the entire day, taking turns saying the same thing.  

"God," Sid says, shaking his head.

Geno smiles at him softly. "Reminds me of our wedding." He takes Sid's hand and pulls him closer. "Look the same."

"No, I don't," Sid says dryly, smiling.

"You're right," Geno says, and he kisses Sid. "You look better."

Sid's usually better about Geno being this sweet, better about dealing with how Geno makes him feel, even after all this time, but he's been so fucking emotional the entire day, he's reached his quota. He pushes himself closer and buries his face in Geno's shoulder, and Geno brings up a hand to rub his back, up and down.

Geno stops, suddenly, and curses lowly in Russian, so Sid looks at him then turns to follow his wide-eyed stare.

Zara's standing there, looking beautiful, standing tall in a white dress, and Sid doesn't know _what_ he's feeling but he knows that he feels _so much_. He is so proud, and so happy, and so shocked, and so nostalgic, and all together, it becomes a mess he can't sort out. Both of them rush to her, and Sid chokes out, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay, "God, you look so beautiful."

Geno kisses her forehead, saying, "We love you so, so much."

Zara sniffles loudly. "Please don't make me cry, because then my makeup will be ruined and I'll have mascara running down my cheeks and look like a complete mess."

"Still be most beautiful," Geno says, holding her face between his hands.

" _Papa_ ," she says thickly, and she hugs him tightly.

Sid has a hand resting on her back, and when she pulls back, wiping delicately at her eyes, he says, "Ready?"

"No," Geno says.

"I wasn't asking you, but thanks for the input."

Zara's startled into a laugh, and Geno smiles at Sid over her head.   

***

The first time they hold a grandchild, Sid's sitting on a hard plastic chair and staring at the doors that lead into the emergency room, Geno's pacing back and forth, back and forth in front of them, and they have never been more terrified in their lives.

Zara's wife, Nadia, is alternating between sitting hunched over with her face in her hands and walking to the doors, standing on her tiptoes to peek through the little windows at the top, hoping she sees something, anything. Her eyes are red, her face is stone, and she is still and contained in a way she never is.

A parent should never have to bury their child, is what they say, and Sid repeats the thought to himself as a prayer — _please, God, please don't make me have to bury her_.

They should be celebrating, by now. Welcoming the newest member of their family into the world — a baby girl named Nina or Natasha or Natalia. Nadia should have her daughter in her arms, she should be sitting by Zara's bedside, they should be together and smiling and _happy_.

Sid and Geno shouldn't have to sit out here, wondering and wishing and waiting with baited breath, shouldn't be thinking about pain and grief and _death_ , not when there is new life.  

He wants to snap at Geno to sit down and stay still, but he doesn't in part because he doesn't know if he would even be able to get the words out. He's grinding his teeth, gripping the arms of his seat, white-knuckled; the ever-present fear that accompanies having a child has grown so big, has wrapped itself so tightly around him, it's all he can see, all he can hear, all he can taste.

His thoughts are wild, fueled by panic, half-formed and gone so quick, leaving nothing behind but trails that lead back to the amygdala. He doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know how he can help, he doesn't know how he can fix this.

The doors open. All three of them rush to the doctor, asking the same question in overlapping voices: "Is Zara okay? Is the baby okay?"

The doctor smiles. "Yes and yes. Congratulations, you have a healthy baby girl."

"Oh, thank god, thank god," Sid manages to get out through the relief settling over him, and Geno pulls him in, cursing in Russian, sagging against Sid. Sid can feel his shaky breaths on his neck.

Sid shuts his eyes, letting out a long, long exhale, centering himself, regaining his balance, and then he remembers Nadia. She's crying, repeating, "Thank you, thank you," at the doctor, and he pulls her in, too, comforting both of them with nonsensical platitudes.

"Thank you, doctor," Sid says. "When can we see her?"

"In a few minutes, hopefully. A nurse will come get you," the doctor says, and then turns and pushes through the doors.

When they see Zara, she looks like a mess but she's smiling, tears on her cheeks, holding her daughter. When Sid and Geno get a turn to hold her, Geno has her in his arms and Sid presses close, cooing at her, "Hey, sweetheart. Look, you've got your mother's eyes."

***

The first time one of their parents dies, Sid has deep crow's feet and wrinkles around his mouth, Geno does, too, and they're both satisfied and content with their lives in ways they had never imagined when they were younger.

They're watching a movie together on the couch. Geno keeps stealing the bowl of popcorn and then absentmindedly putting it on the other side, out of Sid's reach, so Sid keeps bothering him about it until he brings it back.

"Shh, ruining movie," Geno says the sixth time it happens, frowning but still not looking away from the movie.  

"Well, if you — "

Sid's interrupted by Geno's phone ringing, so he checks to see who's calling.

"Leave it, I'll call back later," Geno says, mouth full of popcorn as he shoves another handful in.

Sid's brow furrows. "It's...your brother."

Geno pauses, pauses the movie, then looks at Sid. "What? Denis? Now?" He puts down the popcorn and holds out his hand, tense, sitting straight. Sid passes him the phone and he picks it up.

For a moment, it looks like he's frozen in time. He looks ahead, mouth parted, unbreathing, hand over his heart. And then, all at once, he thaws — starts with a whisper and works his way up to a shout, saying _what are you saying_ and _no, she fucking isn't_ and _no, Denis, don't say that_ and _how the fuck could this happen_ and he clutches his hair in his hand, tears — tears like Sid has never seen before — rolling down his face, voice shredded by grief and disbelief, and gets out, low and pained, "God, no, Denis, please — it can't — _mama_ ," before he stops being able to speak any further. He hunches in on himself, so quickly it's as if he were just sucker-punched in the gut, and Sid plucks the phone from his hands.

"I'm — fuck, I'm so sorry," he says to Denis, and he pulls Geno in with his other arm. Geno clings to him, as if Sid's the only thing anchoring him, the only thing he has left, sobs racking his body. Sid wants to ask how it happened, when it happened, where it happened, _why_ it happened, because he loves her and he doesn't want it to be true. He can't imagine a world without her in it, can't imagine not being able to call her and hear her warm voice over the phone, asking him if he's eating enough and if he's feeding Geno, giving him her newest recipe, catching him up on the latest stunt her neighbors have pulled.  

But Geno needs him right now, so he says goodbye to Denis, holds Geno closer, rubs his back soothingly, and says, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know," over and over again, burying his own face into his hair and letting himself cry, too.

***

The first time he visits Geno's grave, the sun has shooed away any stray clouds and perched itself in the middle of the blue, blue sky and Sid hates summer with the same ferocity he had once loved it.

It's Geno's favorite kind of day. On days like these, Sid would let himself be dragged outside, complaining _I need to get things done_ or _It's so hot_ or _You realize basking in the sun isn't always the answer to boredom, right?_ and Geno would shush him, find a good spot, lie down and tug Sid on top of him, and start running his hand through Sid's hair, saying, "Stop."

And Sid would grumble and grouse and grouch away until he could no longer pretend he didn't love it. That he didn't love being forced to relax, didn't love letting himself become so warm it was uncomfortable but being far too lazy to move, didn't love that the only sounds he could hear were the water in the distance, the occasional rustling of the trees, the playful back-and-forth of the birds, and Geno's heartbeat under his ear.

Except Geno isn't here, so instead, he's clutching Geno's favorite flowers in one hand and the remnants of his sanity in the other, staring at the ornate tombstone but refusing to read the inscription on it, pain clogging his throat, taking up so much space within him his lungs don't have enough room to expand, because he thought he was ready, he thought he was _ready_ , but how could anyone ever be?

"I thought we were a team, Geno," he chokes out. "How can we be one if you're dead?" Tears blur his vision. Now he doesn't have to try and avoid the inscription, he can't see it at all, and he's thankful, because a few words could never explain who Geno was, what he meant to everyone around him.

Because that's all strangers would see — a name, a lifespan, a few words, and a gray, lifeless slab of stone, which isn't fair because Geno _embodied_ life, embodied what it should be. They wouldn't see that he'd constantly donate money to the local animal shelters so they never had to put down an animal; that he'd always wear the most ridiculous things because Sid would always make a face at them; that he'd tease and poke and prod but if he ever went too far, he'd do whatever it took to make it right; that he cried hard, laughed harder, and loved hardest of all.

At that moment, his legs — which have allowed him to weather anything life has thrown at him — give out because they can't bear the weight of his grief. He sits, hard, his elbows resting on his knees, the flowers dangling from his hand between his legs, the tears curving down his cheeks, down his jaw, down his neck, glinting in the sunlight, and breathes.

"This wasn't a fucking competition, Geno," he says when he's able to. "You didn't have to win."

Maybe it had been, though. Maybe it had been a competition and he hadn't known and he had lost, lost in the most painful way.

He has never hated losing as much as he does right then.  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! as always, comments are wonderful and constructive criticism is more than welcome. i do think i could add a little more between "first time they held a grandchild" and "first time a parent dies," but i still wasn't sure what i wanted to put there. there was an anon w some great ideas (like the grandchild one, which i'd totally forgotten about!!) about what i could add, but all of those def come before "first time they held grandchild" and i think i'm good in term of events before "grandchild." let me know if you think of some events that fit in between those two. maybe i'll add them!!!
> 
> IF you would like to leave some constructive crit, i'd really really appreciate some comments on the following: pacing, characterization, and did it build enough of a picture for you? like i wanted to do snapshots of firsts through their lives to create a rough sketch that the reader could then fill in and perfect with their imagination, so did i include enough for that to happen?


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